Pandemonium
by The Queen of Pecans
Summary: “Rosie, I know we've talked about this, but I don't think you should be dating ... that boy.” Dad has trouble saying Scorpius' name; I tried to get him to see a therapist this summer, but he didn't want anything to do with "those muggle shrinks." ONESHOT.


**A/N: I was sorting through my archives folder the other day and I came across this (well, a version of it, anyways ...) that I'd written about seven or eight months ago. I found that I still liked the idea, so I edited it and spiced it up a bit. It's not the greatest and I probably could've made it better, but I wanted to post it so ... here it is! Enjoy! [P.S Don't forget to review!]  
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**POV: Rose Weasley**

**Summary: Rose's take on the September 1st**** beginning-of-school madness in her clan.**

**DISCLAIMER: What? You mean I don't own Harry Potter? Well, _that_ certainly explains a lot ...**

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It's safe to say that I have been dreading this day nearly all summer.

Oh well. Life happens. So does September first. But, seriously, never _ever_ mention that date around me or I will hex you clear into next week. No, forget next week – next _year_. That's how bad it is. I'm pretty sure that five years of this chaos (and counting) has damaged me for life.

I used to like it. The first, oh, I dunno, year or two. It was like a family get-together; everyone came to see everyone off. And dad would crack jokes about being famous that everyone laughed at because the jokes were so stupid that they were funny.

But then the jokes started to get old; everything did, really. It was like a routine. Albus and I had it memorized; we knew exactly who was going to explode when – and _why _they were going to explode. It was the same thing every year. Every. Single. Year.

Everything also started to get noisier. I never think it can get any noisier than the year before, but it always does.

It _always_ does.

And the worst part is that I can't even go stand by Scorpius to escape from everything. If I am in a twenty-foot radius of Scorpius, Dad will start shooting me death glares because he doesn't think I should be going out with "that boy." We've only been dating for four months, but when dad saw us step off the train together last term, you should've _seen_ his face – it was so red that that he looked like a giant cherry tomato.

Really, though, on September 1st, my dad's over-protectiveness and dislike of the Malfoys are the least of everyone's worries. It's a madhouse, I tell you – an absolute madhouse, filled with complaining blondes, yelling, farting, and lecturing red-heads, and a steaming mad Uncle Harry.

And they say they don't want to make a scene.

Like usual, this is all running through my mind as we drive – rather badly, I'll admit, as my dad is behind the wheel – in an magically expanded muggle car to Kings Cross Station. I'm squished between James and Hugo, and let me tell you, it's not fun. If you're going to be squished between two people on a car ride, you do not want it to be James and Hugo. James is continually poking my side and making gooey faces, asking whether or not I've made out with Scorpius in a broom closet yet. The answer to that question is actually yes, but I'm not about to tell that to James because not only will he be making fun of me for at least the rest of the week but dad is also staring at me through the review mirror pretty menacingly. And on top of James and Dad, Hugo is letting out a series of farts while talking animatedly to me in pig-latin. Kind of makes it hard to concentrate, but it mostly just makes it hard to breath.

Dad pulls the car into a parking spot at the station (well, _two _parking spots I think, because he went quite a ways over the white line ...) and the only thing I can think is: Oh god, we're here.

Depending on how you look at it, this could be a good thing or a bad thing, but I think I'd rather stay in a stinky car squashed between James and Hugo than go out and face the hysteria that's about to take place. Mom has a pained look on her face – it's nice to know I'm not the only one who thinks this family is totally nuts.

Dad, on the other hand, is acting totally oblivious and is instead motioning us all out of the car, scanning the crowd for the rest of his family. He spots Uncle Percy and family getting ready to walk through the barrier.

Time to face the music.

"OI! WAIT FOR US PERCE!" Uncle Percy ignores my dad's yelling and instead walks through the barrier as quickly as he can. Dad says that even though Uncle Percy got top marks, he's pretty stupid. Right now, he seems pretty damn smart to me.

"Go, Rosie, GO!" Lily yells, nearly pushing me out of the car. I stumble out, ready to give her a peace of my mind, but she's already re-applying her lipgloss via the car window.

I give her leg a swift kick when I walk by, heading towards the back of the car to grab my trunk before following Albus towards the barrier. I glance back in time to see dad drop Hugo's trunk on his foot and curse loudly. This is followed by two slaps – one from mum, the other from Auntie Ginny.

"Walk faster," I whine to Al, "I don't want to even be _seen_ with them."

He snorts, but picks up the pace nevertheless. "I think everyone knows they're our parents," he points out the obvious. Whatever. I can still deny it. There's hope – I could've been switched at birth or something.

We get through the barrier in record time where we are greeted by the rest of our extended family. Moments later, the rest of my family and Al's file through after us.

Here we go. Again.

I can already hear Auntie Fleur complaining. "Eet ees too hot in 'ere, Bill," she says, her thick, French accent clearly audible, "Cannot we wait in zee shade?" There's no shade around here. It's a train station. What she really means is: 'Can't we wait away from your crazy family?' Only, too late - she's already a part of the crazy family. Plus, she's french. And the french can be crazy sometimes (or, at least, the french _I _know ... Auntie Fleur, Victoire, Dom ...), so I'd say she's double crazy. Ha. Sucks to be her.

Uncle Bill pats her shoulder sympathetically and she lets out a humph. Then she spots her son, Louis, a seventh year, coming back from the restroom. "Oh, Louis, I will miss yoo so very much," she gushes, pulling him into a hug as he makes a face. Ever since Vic and Dom graduated, Auntie Fleur has been smothering Louis with more hugs and kisses than ever before, hoping that this will somehow cause him to stay at home instead of get his own flat after he graduates. Yea, right.

I wince on Louis' behalf and glance over in Uncle George's direction. He's already plotting with my cousin Fred. Sometimes I wonder if Uncle George ever realizes that he isn't a kid anymore.

"So if we throw this dungbomb over there ..." he's saying, but can't continue because the word dungbomb catches Aunt Angelina's attention.

"DUNGBOMB?!" And here comes the first of the yelling, "GEORGE WEASLEY, YOU HAD BETTER NOT BE TEACHING _OUR_ SON _ANOTHER_ PRANK – "

Uncle George cuts her off, grinning. Whatever is coming next can not be pretty. "Calm down, Mum," he states in a patronizing voice. Ouch. He did not just go there. But before Aunt Angelina can retaliate, Roxanne comes running up and grabs his leg.

"Daddy! DADDY! Where's the candy? Where?" At nine years old, Roxanne is a candy-holic. And Uncle George isn't much of a help seeing as he always keeps a couple of sweets on his person at all times. At the mention of candy, Lucy, Uncle Percy's youngest daughter who's a first year, comes barreling towards them.

"Candy? CANDY!" she exclaims. Next to me, Al gives a chuckle and I can't refrain from laughing a bit myself. Uncle George is standing there, grinning of course, with two little girls clutching his legs for dear life. It's kind of sweet, actually, until Uncle Percy has to come in and ruin the whole picture.

"George, don't you dare give my kid anymore candy. Last time she had one of your sweets, she was sick for a week. Not only that, but did you know that candy isn't good for the ..." he trails off, stopping mid-lecture as Uncle George's grin gets bigger. I decide now is a good time to walk away, so I turn to Albus.

"Ready?" I ask, getting prepared to make a break for it.

"If you are," he answers, and we turn and start walking away as quickly as possible. Of course, I can still hear the shouts in the distance: " – GEORGE, NO, GEORGE! NOT THE TONGUE TOFFEES – NO GEORGE, NOT THOSE EITHER – GEORGE – " I think maybe Uncle Percy just likes saying the name George, but I could be wrong.

Before Albus and I can make our full escape, Dad grabs my arm and hauls me into the little circle he's standing in consisting of the Granger-Weasley and Potter families. It's obvious that Uncle Harry is trying to hide from the reporters and camera-men that have just now started to enter the train station. It's been nearly twenty-four years since the final battle, yet they're still hounding him as if he defeated the darkest wizard of all time just yesterday.

"Rosie, listen – I know we already talked about this, but I still don't think you should be dating ... that boy." He has trouble saying Scorpius' name. I tried to get him to go see a therapist this summer, but he wouldn't have anything to do with "those muggle shrinks."

At this point, I know better than to argue. "Don't worry dad, I won't even look at him while you're around." This doesn't appear to have the desired effect, because my dad's face starts getting red and he begins muttering something about 'while I'm around – and what about when I'm _not_ around?'

Suddenly, a loud farting noise resonates throughout the station, and we all look at Hugo. Brilliant. Just _brilliant._ Hugo has the worst, smelliest farts you can ever imagine – worse than dad's. And he's always farting, whether on purpose or accident, I'm not even sure anymore. We all step away, noses plugged.

And then the inevitable happens.

"HARRY – HARRY POTTER! OVER, HERE, HARRY! – GIVE US A SMILE, HARRY!" Uncle Harry tries to crouch away from the reporters with no luck, and they continue to snap his picture.

And then Lavender Brown shows up, which always gets my mum steaming mad. Lavender Brown is a reporter, who apparently has some sort of history with dad. "Hullo, and you're watching the Wizarding News, Channel Six," Lavender says in this cheery voice, "I'm here with Harry Potter, and his friends and family, including the ever-brave Ron Weasley." The camera pans over to my dad, who still looks red from our conversation, as Lavender slings her arm around his shoulder. "Tell us about Harry, Ronald," she says, blinking her eyes until I think they're about to fall out. "Was he as brave as _you_?" She giggles this high-pitched little laugh.

This is where my mum has had it. Her face turns all red – redder than Dad's when he talks about "that boy" – and she rounds on Lavender. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING? GET THE BLOODY HELL AWAY FROM MY HUSBAND! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO TALK TO HIM! THIS IS NOT SOME PUBLIC INTERVIEW AREA – IT'S A TRAIN STATION!"

James whistles, "Tell her Aunt 'Mione!"

Lavender continues to blink her eyes innocently. "Excuse me, Hermione, but my boss sent me out here to do an interview. Now, if you don't let me talk to Ronald, which I'm sure, considering the events of sixth year, he doesn't mind _at all_ – "

I'm not really sure what happened during my mum's sixth year, but it must've been something bad because mum cuts Lavender off with a slap across the face.

James cheers loudly, "CATFIGHT! CATFIGHT!" Aunt Ginny doesn't refrain him, which means she must really hate Lavender. Or else she just wants to see a catfight, too. Both, I think.

To James' dismay, they don't have a catfight, but they do have a shouting match. With a few slaps and stomping of feet. At least he got something out of it, eh?

So while they're having their shouting match, Lily decides to have some fun.

Let me just say that Lily Luna Potter is not the sweet, innocent little girl Uncle Harry believes her to be. She gets a new boyfriend like she buys new clothes – and believe me, Lily does _lots_ of shopping.

She turns to the cameraman who looks impatient. "You can photograph _me _," she says, batting her eyelashes and striking a pose with a hand on her hip and a pouty lip. He immediately starts clicking away, and the other camera men follow his lead. Upon hearing cameras, Uncle Harry turns around.

"Here comes the explosion," Albus mutters in my ear.

Upon seeing his "sweet" and "innocent" little girl being photographed in all sorts of crazy poses (one of which includes her lifting her shirt up to the top of her stomach – don't look at me, _I _didn't raise her) Uncle Harry starts firing off hexes towards the camera men. Albus and I back away, determined to make our escape this time, but I'm sure no matter where we are we'll be able to hear Uncle Harry's shouts. "WHAT ARE YOU THINKING – TAKING INNAPROPRIATE PICTURES – SHE'S ONLY FOURTEEN – MY DAUGHTER – TAKING ADVANTAGE OF SUCH A SWEET, INNOCENT, LITTLE GIRL – "

I look at Albus and raise an eyebrow. "Who does your father think he is kidding?"

Albus glares at me. "Rosie, she's my _sister_."

"I know, I know," I say, holding up my hands and shuffling my feet on the ground. By now, we've distanced ourselves far away from our family, and I can see some other cousins doing the same – Louis, for one, is hurrying on the train (probably to go snog his girlfriend) and out of his mum's sight as quick as possible.

"Think it's over yet?" I ask after a bout of silence.

He looks back at the chaos that is our family. "My dad doesn't look like he's done chewing them out yet – plus he still hasn't broken their cameras yet. Maybe we should get on the train?" he offers half-heartedly.

I look back. It doesn't look like the yelling is going to stop anytime soon. And Uncle Harry is just now reaching for the cameras.

"Maybe? Definitely."

**--**

**A/N: So, did you like? Didn't like? It was sort of crazy, but then, that's always sort of how I imagined the Weasley clan to be. So review, review, review - but don't flame! Also, there's a banner for this story on my profile page that I made (featuring Rose) just for fun if you want to check it out and see my cool graphics skills (well, _I _think they're good - what? Don't expect _me _to be modest.) If you ask real nicely, I may even make a banner for _your _story.  
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**See you later, alligators**

**The Queen of Pecans  
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